One Night With A Prince by Sabrina Jeffries Read Free Book Online Page A

cravat accentuated the masculine lines of his square jaw.
    Even from here, she could see the dressmaker, a portly woman twice his age, casting him flirtatious smiles. Who wouldn’t? The man’s doeskin breeches could have been painted on him. Christabel had seen cavalrymen with less muscular calves and thighs—clearly Byrne did more with his days than sit at gaming tables.
    The one thing she could find no trace of in his lean form was His Highness, his supposed father. Then Byrne shifted his gaze to them, and she saw the resemblance. It was in his eyes, the same unearthly blue as the prince’s.
    Eyes that narrowed with disapproval when they spotted her gown. He waited until they’d approached and he’d introduced the dressmaker before saying, “I see you’re still intent on your widow’s weeds.”
    “They suit me,” she lied.
    “No, they don’t.” He added in a huskier tone, “You were made for satins and silks, Christabel.”
    “Satins and silks are expensive, sir,” Rosa cut in.
    As the dressmaker scowled at Rosa’s impertinence, Christabel said through gritted teeth, “Forgive my maid, but she’s foreign and has decided opinions.”
    Byrne’s lips twitched as he turned his unsettling blue gaze on Rosa. “And where do you hail from, miss?”
    “Gibraltar.” She presented it like a badge of honor.
    He said something in a foreign tongue, and Rosa blinked. It was the first time Christabel had ever seen her maid startled.
    “You speak Spanish, sir?” Rosa asked.
    “A bit.” His ingratiating smile took in both of them. “In my business, it pays to know a smattering of other languages.”
    Rosa nodded, though she still looked wary. But when he rattled off more Spanish, she cast him a cautious smile. Her short response, however, must have been saucy, for he burst into laughter. After a second she even joined him.
    Then he said in English, “Rosa, why don’t you show Mrs. Watts where we’ll be doing the fittings for your mistress’s gowns? Her footmen are waiting to bring in bolts of fabric.”
    Before Christabel could stop her, Rosa took the dressmaker off. Christabel turned to Byrne with a frown. “I thought this was a consultation.”
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    “It’s also a fitting. I want Mrs. Watts to get started on your gowns right away. She’s making it her first priority.”
    “I can’t afford that!”
    “Ah, but I can. And the quickest way for people to learn that you’re my mistress is if they hear I bought you expensive gowns.”
    She considered that a moment, torn between pride and practicality, as footmen marched through the vestibule to the parlor, carrying bolts of muslin and sarcenet. “I suppose you do this all the time,” she grumbled.
    He took that for the acquiescence it was. “Occasionally. Although fortunately, my mistress’s husbands generally pay for their gowns.”
    She stuck out her chin. “Then I’ll pay you for mine later.”
    “I’m getting a barony out of this—that’s payment enough.” He slanted her a glance. “Besides, if I letyou pay for them, you’ll probably buy the coarsest linsey and plenty of dimity and fustian.”
    Because that was all she could afford. “That’s practical for the country. And we are going to be in the country, aren’t we?”
    “Trust me, no one at this affair will be dressed in fustian. I mean to see you in gauze and silk and sheer muslin.” He bent close to murmur, “Verysheer muslin.”
    Ignoring the sudden racing of her pulse, she said, “Is that what you said to Rosa in Spanish?”
    “I told her I could afford satins and silks. And I told her I would treat you well.” His eyes gleamed with humor. “She said that if I didn’t, she’d feed me my privates for breakfast.” At Christabel’s groan, he chuckled. “Do you find your servants on the battlefield, for God’s sake? Do you test them on marksmanship and swordplay before you hire them?”
    “Very